Clovelly is one of only three privately owned villages in England. The quaint difficulty of getting around has been preserved, which ensures that only people who value the glory of the historical will dwell and stay.

It was an extension of table etiquette advice – to be sensitive to the difference between public and private situations and to respond appropriately within them. The sitting room is not the dining room nor the palace.

Cross the French border at San Sebastian into Spain and almost immediately everything changes: the weather, scenery, layout of the towns, and the fumble of little shops on the streets are still small but somehow different.

I had lost my passport and ticket, but not my way. I had lost a treasure of my origins and childhood. I was learning fortitude, discerning the symbolic from the real and a small new delight in my own daring. Call it confidence.

We had happened upon a pub that offered good honest Scottish fare: Scotch broth, Cullen Skink (smoked haddock soup), Howtowdie, (whole chicken stewed), venison stew, Clootie dumpling (dried fruit steamed pudding) and a rarity then in pubs, Scottish cheeses.

Having been told I was an eager amateur cook, I was invited to visit the kitchen and speak with Mrs. Boyle, the family’s cook, who never seemed to stop working – preparing breakfast, lunch, afternoon tea and dinner for the guests.